A Heart of Ice and Stone
by NightshadeQueene
Summary: "A winter such as this, is one like I have never seen. Father - I believe you've been keeping things from me." The king of the woodland elves has but one job. To protect his people. What happens, when a mysterious frost comes and covers the forest? Then, leaves as quickly as it came? There are forces even the most powerful of rulers cannot understand. (LOTR/The Hobbit)
1. Prologue

_Frost_.

A deadly cold covered the land; everything it touched was freezing almost solid. It was an unexpected winter that had snuck in like a thief in the night. Such a strange thing had not occurred in a very long time. The only memory he had of a winter like this, came from a long time ago. Long before he was King of the Greenwood.

He was but a child, still young to the ways of the world; the chill he felt now brought back the memories of the bone-rattling cold he had felt then. With such an event, his people had to retreat into their cavernous homes for a very different reason than they had of late. Whether this winter was a more deadly threat than the orcs and spiders they had become accustomed to fending off, remained to be seen.

If one were to think about it, there was but one benefit to the coming cold. The numbers of attacks to their home had dwindled almost down to none at all. This would make way for yet another anomaly of sorts. It had been a very long time, not nearly so long as it had since seeing a winter take over the wood; the king had not left to wander on his own in almost two thousand years, at the least.

After much contemplation, Thranduil decided it was safe enough to leave for a short time. Readying the great elk, Noroth, he set out to observe the winter for himself. Perhaps, to even discover its source.

Far, far toward the very edge of the Northern border, there laid a very fragile being. The one who was responsible for the growing frost and snow that was covering the land. Long wisps of hair, a color darker than even that of the darkest night sky, spread out on the ground in a pool around her body, strands blowing to and fro around her face. Eyes the color of clear, clouding crystals scanned the area. It was beautiful, all of it. She had not been doing it on purpose, though there it was. It would have brought a smile to her face, if it weren't for the searing pain of arrows stuck in her body. Each time she'd been struck, more and more snow began to spread. Frost filled the air, the temperature dropping several degrees with each new pain that wracked her body.

Her once beautiful dress was now shredded, barely enough to shield her from the inevitable freeze that would bite her skin.

Each breath she took in felt like a sword being shoved into her chest, then slowly being drawn back out. She could not move. For if she tried, her vision would cloud further, subsiding into the darkness that was ebbing at the edges of her eyes.

Slowly, the cold was leaving. Warmth broke through the snow covered boughs of the tree she'd collapsed beneath. Silken rays of sunlight filtered through, bringing a soft light to the darkness taking her mind. With her pain, brought the chill of the world. The pain she endured was projected, transferring itself into a storm not under her control.

With her death, would come the death of the cold. The frost would abade, the snow would melt. The wood of the elves would return to its former state. All, would return to normal.

Darkness clung to her vision, washing over in waves broken only by the sunlight which only seemed to make her feel sick. A feeling of nausea rose in the pit of her stomach. Her stomach lurched- only making the arrow in her abdomen move, being covered in more of her blood than before.

Sounds were leaving her, she could hear nothing, all she felt was pain. Searing, slowly driving pain. Her breaths were becoming distanced, harder to make, and more ragged.

The source of the sudden winter's arrival was no longer the only concern. It was leaving as suddenly as it had come. The grass beneath Noroth's hooves crunched, but in a way that suggested it was healthier than before the frost came.

This brought a crease to the Elf King's features. With the winter gone for whatever reason, this would mean that his people would again have to fight against the sure to soon be returning darkness. He had yet to find the cause of the event; he was only finding that the cold was abruptly melting.

Just as Thranduil was thinking to return home, something caught his eyes. There was a single spot, where the snow remained. It lingered there longer than in any other spot he'd come across. He tilted his head a bit, taking special care to pay attention to the reactions of his steed. Noroth sniffed the air, shuffling his hooves on the ground. If he could speak, he would have said what was crossing thranduil's mind at that very moment.

 _Blood._

Dark streams of crimson streaked down through the melting slush. The source of the streams becoming apparent soon enough. The sight gave even the king pause. It reminded him of his wife, in a way. He almost wondered if such a fate was what had befallen her when she was taken from him.

The crudely made orcish arrows that rutted out of the frail body before him reminded him why he hated the orcs so much; the hollow look in the female's eyes held him static for a moment. This one sight was a painful reminder of why he had hardened his heart to the wounds of others, especially those who were not their own.

Thranduil thought her a lost cause, so tried to turn Noroth away. Prolonged exposure to the woods would put him at risk, would put his people in danger. This was not something he was willing to allow. Her misfortune was her own.

"Come, Noroth. We must leave this place." Thranduil said beneath his breath, his brows knit further, his stony gaze turning away.

The great elf would not move. This behavior was most unusual for him, he was normally very obedient. There was a long hesitancy, before Noroth finally continued - but forward. He leaned forwards, nuzzling her hair. There was the softest of gasps from her, a word barely even uttered.

 _"... Help..."_

To any other ears, this would have gone unnoticed. Noroth's ears flicked, he turned to look at his master, and grunted heavily. He was not going to move, until the female's request was met. The elk was tense, as well. There was a look in his eyes that only came when danger was around. Noroth stomped the ground, digging at it.

Without any other option, Thranduil cursed to himself. The last thing he wanted to do was bring in a wounded creature, who may already be dead. Part of him did hesitate, though. There was a feeling of great power about her. If she were to be saved, or even simply preserved, whatever power lay within her could be used to keep his home safe. If she were truly the cause of the coming and going of a brief winter so intense, that kind of power could save his kingdom for millennia to come. Perhaps even during the coming reign of his son.

"Very well, Noroth. We shall bring back the female." Thranduil responded coldly to his elk, sliding down the side. Looking the animal in the eyes, he added "Do not think this means I, nor anyone else, will be able to do anything to save her. And, expect not to be receiving any extra carrots for a while - especially if I am correct and she dies."

Turning to the wounded woman, the King picked her up in one fluid motion, as if she were naught but air to him. In truth, she did not weigh much to begin with. Most of the weight, Thranduil assumed to be due to her being soaked in her own blood. That, or due to the odd, feathery appendages protruding from her back. How she got, or, more importantly; how one so small could support such very large wings, was beyond him.

Placing her upon the elk in a way that would keep her from falling, and that would not worsen her already near-fatal wounds, it was mere seconds after placing her there, that the woodland elf was back atop Noroth and heading back towards his home.

Although thankful none of the orcs whom were encamped so close, nor any of the dreadful spawn of Ungoliant, had yet to rear their ugly heads; Thranduil could not help but to think the very last of their supply of Athelas would surely be used up in the attempt to heal this woman.

Their arrival to the gates of his kingdom was swift. A haste to the beast's step that Thranduil had not seen since the last battle he accompanied him in. It was as if Noroth knew the gravity of the situation. The fact that one mere misstep could be what tipped the precarious balance of life and certain death for the fading creature he and his master had encountered.

The gates flew open, the king off of the great elk as swiftly as he had climbed on. "Ready the infirmary. I want every healer that can be spared to come to me - I have something that cannot wait to be attended to."

Although the situation was more one that might warrant panic, or at least a severe worry, Thranduil's voice was as smooth as if he were ordering them to go to the garden and prepare for a feast. There was authority in his voice; one that came from years of a long life, as well the royal blood which flowed through his veins.

The elves around the room were quick to nod, and scurry off to do as the king had ordered. The infirmary was prepared as well as could be on such short a notice. The king was on his way to his own chambers, however. He had much contemplation to do, and would soon see an appearance of his son, he was sure.

The only thought he had which kept repeating in his mind, was a resounding question.

 _Have I brought a new danger to my people - is she a threat?_


	2. Four Months to Heal

"Such wounds should never have been able to heal," Lithoniel shook her head, golden curls bouncing. The look in her light olive colored eyes said she was telling the truth. "I do not understand it in the least, my Lord. If I had to guess, however; I would attribute it to the heavy amount of Athelas we had to use on her." Lithoniel went silent a moment, watching the eyes of her king for his response.

He paused, only but half a minute. His expression read of nothing, though his gaze was not one Lithoniel could look away from.

"You were able to heal her, then?"

His question was in a tone that suggested he was not simply asking if it had been done, but that he expected it to be done. He rose a dark brow, staring the shorter Half-elf down.

"Yes, my Lord. What you reque-" she stopped, seeing something flicker in his deep, yet icy, blue hues. Lithoniel cleared her throat, stood straighter, and folded her hands in front of her sage colored gown.

"Yes. We have done as you ordered. She is healed - though still working on recovering."

"You say she is healed, and yet still recovering?" Thranduil questioned softly, a voice filled with such a chill it made Lithoniel shiver visibly. "How is it, you can have done as I commanded - and yet, utterly failed me as well?" His expression remained clear, yet there was a growing displeasure growing in his eyes.

"Has not the four months I have already allowed you, to apparently spend dawdling, been enough for you to do your work properly?"

His gaze turned to stone. Lithoniel bit her lower lip, her nails digging into the silver tray which she held. Thranduil had long responded to her in such a manner, treating her harsher than others for the simple fact she was only half elven. This being kept in the forefront of her mind, Lithoniel no longer cried - she steeled herself. She took whatever he could dish out on her, and responded only with the utmost respect for him. A time or two, she could have sworn she saw a spark of admiration in his eyes. Though, she may have been wrong.

"Your majesty, I will say. I do anything but dawdle when trying to heal someone. My movements are swift, my decisions concise. If I tell you a charge of mine is healed and on her way to a full recovery, then she is indeed healed, and indeed on her way to recovering."

Thranduil simply watched the smaller female, a slight look of amusement pulling at his lips as he observed the healer's burst of boldness. It was far better than the tiresome bouts of quivering and groveling he'd become so used to when he became harsh with a lower elf, he could give her at least that.

"Very well." He finally answered her. "Then do tell me, is she awake?"

Lithoniel nodded to the king, her lips tightly pressed. She may have been bold, but that did not stop her from being bothered by such blatant rudeness that was thrust at her.

"I believe she will wake within the hour." Her answer was flat, yet carried her own sense of authority. Perhaps, a tad too much.

Thranduil observed Lithoniel for a moment, deciding. Finally delivering a short, curt nod, he turned away and began towards his throne room. His final say in the matter being called back just before he opened the great oaken doors.

"Send her to me, the moment that she wakes."

"Aye, my Lord."

Light feet turning back to the infirmary, there were still many things to be done. As ordered by Thranduil himself, they were to take every care they could, to heal the woman in a proper-yet swift- manner. He was no fool, and Lithoniel was all too aware of that. Their king expected _results_.

Opening the door to the infirmary, Lithoniel went to retrieve whatever she could think of to help in last moment preparation of the woman. She had been trying to coax a name out of her, anything which she could call her, so she would not have to feel like a thing being addressed. Thus far, the female had remained mute to the attempts made to speak with her. There was a fear in her eyes each time she was spoken to. Any time she was touched, she would shirk away. At feeling of the woman's stomach during the healing process, Lithoniel had come across something which she had not yet brought to attention. There was only one other who knew of her discovery.

One of her friends, another healer. A young elf by the name Athewyn, with long ashen blonde hair. He had happened to look upwards when Lithoniel figured it out. From his cyan eyes, there was no hiding it. Though he had urged her strongly to say something, Lithoniel stalled. She was certain the woman would know already, so she saw no reason in bringing it up to her when she was still trying to heal. There was little hope left for it, anyway. With the arrow that had pierced so close to her stomach...

To bring up the idea that the woman may have more than her own life to fear for, was something Lithoniel could not bring herself to do. Regardless of the tugging feeling in the pit of her stomach, she ignored it. An action, she would later come to regret.

With all of her supplies gathered, Lithoniel made her way towards the chambers which she and the other healers had given to their wounded doe, as they had come to call her.

She knew soon she would wake again, and would need to be attended to. The great, dark appendages on the female's back had proved to be a challenge to no end; though in having worked with a few birds in her time as the head healer, Lithoniel had been the one to ensure they would not have to be cut off.

"Good morning, m'lady." Lithoniel's greeting was soft in tone, and flowed almost like honey. Such a tone she had to tailor for her, just as the dress she was going to give her to wear.

"We have quite a lot of work to do.. we want to help you look presentable, after all. The king wants to see you."


	3. Named by the King

_"We have quite a lot of work to do.. we want to help you look presentable, after all. The king wants to see you."_

 _The king wants to see you..._

Lithoniel's words echoed in her head. They were registering, but only partly. _The king._ Who was the king? She didn't even know who _she_ was, let alone knowing who the _king_ was. Before she could think of how to respond, Lithoniel was helping her up.

Pulling her up and out of the bed, she helped her to the side. This is where her work would begin. She had to re-check her wounds, to make sure everything was alright. She had to help her up, see how her balance was, and make sure she would be able to walk herself to the throne room alone. Aside, of course, from the accompanying guard. Only one could be assigned to her, as her shy nature would barely allow that.

"Alright, m'lady...your wounds seem to be healed up well, your balance is fair enough. All I have to do now, is help you dress." Lithoniel paused, frowning lightly. She shook her head, deciding against whatever it was she was going to say. It really bothered her, how she didn't have a name to call her. Though there was not much she could really do about it, it was not within her authority to name a person. Nor could she be certain, whatever name she were to give her would be accepted. So, Lithoniel stuck with formality.

Although Lithoniel could not provide her with a name, it was a bit of fun to her, to get to watch her Lady's eyes brighten at the sight of the dress she'd been given to wear.

A gorgeous gown made of the softest materials, it was a medium forest in color. It was if it were made just for her, it fit so well. How it looked on her was absolutely breathtaking to Lithoniel. There was space in the back for her wings to come out, the skirt reached her small feet. There were no shoes available that would fit her pixie feet, leaving her barefoot.

Once the dress was on her, Lithoniel sat her down again, and carefully wove her hair together, pinning dark strands together, and holding then together with silver leaves. The rest of her hair curled down, resting on her shoulders.

The final touches to the ensemble were a simple circlet placed on her head, and a silver necklace with a tiny moonstone at the center. Lastly, a thin, dark olive cape was draped around her shoulders.

Her steps were unsure. Everything she saw drew her attention astray. It was the first time she'd set foot anywhere on her own in four months. And a day. Everything around her was so ornately wrought. So beautifully crafted. Pillar after pillar caught her eyes. The guard with her, thankfully one who seemed to understand the wonder she displayed at seeing the craftsmanship of the elves for the first time. While he knew the king was not likely to be pleased to be kept waiting, he figured he would let the young lady observe her new surroundings. If her meeting with the Elvenking went well, it was more likely she would be able to see more of their cavernous halls - rather than if it went ill, and she would instead be escorted elsewhere, or to the dungeons. An unfortunate occurrence for those who happened to wander into the Greenwood, it happened much to oft for his taste.

Once they arrived at the great oaken doors, he cleared his throat to gain the lady's attention. Having been informed of her invertedness, he was careful not to be too loud. As for the king, the same could not be promised.

"Hold your head high, m'lady. It will go well with you if you do not hide yourself. "

With that, she was left to enter on her own. Before her, sat the most regal person she had seen since being here. There was only a faint familiarity about him, from where she could not say.

His hair was flaxen, so blonde in color to her eyes it appeared to be a waterfall of silver or the purest white. As to his skin, it was flawless. Not a mark could be seen on his face; high cheekbones, piercing silvery blue eyes, and an indiscernible expression were what adorned his features. Atop his head, sat a crown woven out of wood and various berries. Though simple, it did not seem at all out of place.  
His clothing was nearly as impressive as the rest of him. Long trains of crimson flowed around him, pooling at his feet. He wore a dark colored tunic with bits of gold to it, and appeared to be as she was - barefoot.

Slowly, the king rose from his throne; the throne made of what looked to be many various antlers, or horns or sorts to her eyes. Her breath hitched in her throat as he neared her, stopping only mere inches from her. This, being where he began to circle her, as if observing every bit of her. Picking mentally at her. This caused her to tense, her nails digging into the pale flesh of her forearm.  
Her eyes never left him; his eyes were dually adhesive to her. Scanning her, taking in each detail until at last she could barely stand it. Shades of rose were springing upon her cheeks, and she could not help but to chew at her lower lip. Catching her, his eyes met hers.

"You are nervous." It was a fluid, cool statement. Not a question, but an observation made from watching her closely. She swallowed in response, simply blinking.

"Tell me, what is your name?" His brows creased lightly, eyes searching her for any trace of evil or mal-intent. She did not remember, and so was silent. Taking her silence as her answer, he proceeded his interrogation of her. "Are you powerful? Have you been trained in the ways of a weapon?"

Thranduil gave pause, only to complete a circle around her once more. His eyes now narrowed slightly. Her continued silence was beginning to irritate him.

"..Where are you from? Surely, you can answer that." His tone dropped lowly, turning to almost a hiss. Her response was to cringe. Fear resonated in the depths of her now bright, mix of poison and emerald green eyes. Her expression was tight, though he could almost feel her shaking. She was crumbling beneath his glare, and he was all too aware of it.

"You are allowed into our home, taken care of. Your wounds cleaned, fresh food and clothes supplied to you. For four months, our best healers were spent dry attending to you. You, whom I did not have to bring here. " his presence grew darker, more intimidating. It was if he towered over her, his glare piercing into her soul. "I am responsible for you being able to stand before me in such blatant disrespect. Can you not simply give me a name for my trouble? Or shall I replace you where I found you, and leave you to die as I should have in the beginning?"

Thranduil now stood directly in front of her. So close, she could smell the scent of the woods on him, and he the crispness of winter on her. She could almost feel his breath on her, heavy and infuriated. Her knees felt weak - they could buckle at any time, leaving her even further hapless in her situation than she already was. For a moment, the Elvenking watched her. Dark hair that reminded him of the darkest of starless nights; eyes that quivered in fear, yet seemed to shield a great power. A power so great, so unlike anything he'd encountered, he swore he could smell it on her. Her skin was so fair, it would be impossible to see pressed bare against the snow. Her frame was unusual to his eyes as well. She was thinner than most any female elf or human woman he had encountered. Yet, somehow held curves that would cause envy among either race. As if to complete the trembling mess of a creature before him, there were her wings. Large in size, dark in color, and intriguing in nature.

Everything about this strange, aggravating being seemed to contradict itself. She seemed so small, yet the power he felt radiating from her was profound. Whatever she was, he would soon figure it out.  
It had been too long, since anything but the impending darkness had occupied his mind. A mystery would not hurt too much, if it could distract him faintly for but a moment. The more he could discover, the sooner he would know how he could use her power as his own. Such power could not go unchecked; in his possession, he might be able to not only ensure the safety of his people, but attempt to retrieve a treasure kept from his people for far too many years.  
None of this would be possible, however, if the woman would not cooperate. This being decided, Thranduil was about to suggest a night in the dungeons to clear her mind and free up her tongue, when finally she spoke.

"...I...do not remember my name.." Her voice was like the ringing of small bells, a hint of chill to it like that of winters' morn; only tainted by the faint sound of soreness that came from having had an arrow in her neck, and from being so long unused.  
Crystalline tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. She finally cracked beneath his gaze, her soft lips quaking as she tried to collect herself to answer his other questions.

"I..I am sorry, for my silence.. I have no memory of who or even what I am.. I seek not to arouse your wrath but to tell you all I know at the moment...is nothing.." Her voice drew quieter as she spoke. Tears falling down her cheeks from her fear and shame at not knowing. She barely even remembered how she'd been so injured, let alone trying to recall where she was from or if she knew anything about weaponry.

Thranduil's eyes remained on her, no emotion in them. He had no reaction to her tears, save for to move her hand from her arm, where she had still been clutching her nails. His gaze never left her eyes, reading them as if searching for any sign her tears weren't real.

"There is truth in your eyes.." Thranduil mused halfway to himself. "Either you are very good at lying, or you truly do not remember.." Taking hold of her chin, he stared at her for a few moments longer. Her nerves began to work against her further - the worry in her eyes was all too evident. Releasing her chin, he stepped away, his hands behind his back.

 _"Faeariel."_

What he said was soft, though not out of reach of her ears. A look of confusion crossed her delicate features. She had heard many elvish words since being here. Most, in relation to healing, or names of elves whom were helping her. Who she still could not keep straight. The only one she knew well enough at this point to remember her name, was Lithoniel.

Turning to face her once more, the Elvenking looked down on her once more. "You cannot remember your own name, so hence forth this is what you shall be called. I do hope you will bring honor to it.." the last bit, was said softer. She could tell a bit of a change in his emotion, even if it was only the slightest twinge. Looking into his eyes, she searched. There was something about the way he said the name, her new name; how he said it was not simply beautiful, she thought he sounded a bit..sad.

"It is beautiful.." is all she could answer, her breath hitching in her throat again. She swore she could hear him utter _'Yes, she was..'_ although he stood right before her, and his lips had not moved in the slightest.

Regaining his authoritative nature, Thranduil straightened. "You will remain here. I will find a way for you to earn your stay, you are dismissed."


	4. Meeting the Prince

Getting used to a new name was not as easy as she'd thought it would be. For some reason, there had been more than one elf who had responded with hesitancy upon hearing her name.

 _Faeariel_.

It was an odd, yet beautiful name. What her name meant, she had yet to find out. She hoped it wasn't something horrible, the way the king reacted to her caused her to worry if he'd named her something unkind. His demeanor towards her that day had been such a turbulent mix, she was unsure in all honesty what he thought of her.

In order to try and keep out of everyone else's way, she kept to herself and mostly wandered around outside. It had been a few days since her naming, and her remaining wounds had been healing; her recovery was going wonderfully.

If only her relations with the elves were flowing so smoothly.

In knowing the elves did not get along well with her, Faeariel made her way to the stables every morning. There was a calming feeling she got by being there. Something about it felt so natural to her, as if she were meant to be there. The thought had more than once crossed her mind, that perhaps she had been a stable worker of some kind before coming here. This idea was, of course dismissed by Lithoniel many times. Her insistence was that Faeariel was not anything common; she said she was sure, because of what Faeariel had been wearing when she was brought to her for healing.

Either way, Faeariel felt most at home in the stables. That was all she knew.

Today, she was planning on checking up on the mares again. One of them was pregnant, and seemed ready to give birth any time. Another, she was sure was getting pregnant. She wasn't quite sure, but she thought so due to her behavior. Carrying with her a basket of apples she'd gathered, Faeariel hummed lightly to herself. On top the apples, she had a couple of carrots. These, she brought for the great elk who also inhabited the stables.

"Hello.." she cooed softly to the elk, who snorted and lowered his head. Pawing the ground with his hoof, he snorted again. Gently petting his forehead, she couldn't help but to giggle when he lifted his giant head, and began to sniff at her head, nuzzling her neck. Pulling one of the carrots out, she held it to his mouth, waiting for him to eat it. Placing a soft kiss on the side of his face, she was just getting out the second carrot, when a blonde elf stepped out of the shadows, almost scaring her out of her skin.

"You aim to fatten up my father's elk?" the expression on his face was none too pleased, though he simply stopped to pet one of the horses' muzzles. His question hung in the air, his eyes turning back to her in awaiting her answer. _His father..?_ Did this mean he was the king's son? Only the king would have such a magnificent animal, she was certain. Faeariel had heard his name whispered among the healers, though only now was she meeting the one who belonged to it. _Legolas_.

His gaze was as intense as his father's. There was no doubting the fact that he was indeed the heir to Thranduil's throne. He seemed dressed for comfort on this day, no trace of armor or weapons on him.

"No," Faeariel answered Legolas at last. "I do not wish to fatten the elk..I only sought to treat him. That is all." She attempted to offer Legolas a soft smile, to which she garnered only the slightest of grunts. A soft sigh escaping her own lips, she gave one last gesture of affection towards Noroth before moving on to take care of the other stable residents. An apple for each horse, and two for those with child.

"You do know, we already have elves who take care of such duties?" Legolas asked her, raising a brow. "Your presence here is not needed." he added, petting through one of the horse's manes. The gentleness displayed towards the animal suggested to Faeariel that the horse must be his.

A frown crossed her thin lips. it would seem, she was not needed anywhere here. She had yet to hear from the king on what it was she ought to do to earn her place here, and so had been looking on her own; unbeknownst to her, the king had been keeping a closer eye on her than she thought.

"..I am simply trying to keep out of the way, " Faeariel turned to him, looking at him directly - though she began to feel her nerves again. "..I am not a fighter, I do not know if I am able to heal, nor whether or not I would be any good at cooking, or darning torn clothing. I do not remember anything about myself. As of now, I am of no real use to anyone, and I am aware of that."

"So you choose to instead put a halt to elves' work. To be in the way of those who already have their place here." He came closer to her, backing her against an empty stall gate. His eyes narrowed at her. It was as if she'd done something against him that she was unaware of. "You are correct. You are of no use to anyone. It would have been better for us all, if you had been left where he found you."

This being the second time she'd heard this, she couldn't help the tears that began to form in the corners of her eyes. "I am sorry.. I am so sorry.." Her voice shook. All she could do was apologize, until slipping under his arm and taking off back to her room. The one place she had yet to make any sort of trouble.

As she retreated towards the palace, she dropped the basket with her remaining apples. The basket broke, scattering apples across the floor of the stable. A free-for-all to any horses who were paying attention.

On her way to the palace, she passed the king without even realizing it. The only thing she did manage to hear on her way from the stables, was a fight regarding a name.

Faeariel had locked herself in her room, and had not come out for either the midday meal, nor the end of the day's meal. Despite being told more than once she was ordered to appear in the dining hall.

"The king is displeased, m'lady." Lithoniel called at the door, worriedly. "He wants to see you immediately. Would you please come out?"

No answer came then, nor for hours afterwards.

She lay curled in her blankets, staring at a wall, and listening to the sounds of a coming storm. How she grew to be so sensitive, it was as unknown to her as was the place of her origin. All she knew, was that their words hurt, and deeply.

Faeariel lay alone for a great time, her eyes static. Never moving, rarely blinking. She did not understand why she was so hated by the elves. She was strange, even she knew that. But it seemed as if it were something beyond that. As if her name were poison; and her sheer being equally as condemning. She felt alone, save for when she could hide away in the stables, or when Lithoniel came to check on her. Though she lived there already, Faeariel could not help but to feel as if the chief healer understood how she felt.

No movement came from Faeariel until she heard the clicking of her door's lock. Cautiously, Lithoniel peered in. She slipped in, closing the door behind her. She wore a look of concern on her face, her hands folded in front of her.

"M'lady..."

She paused, looking at her feet.

"I fear there is something you should know.. It should never have been kept from you.."


	5. Namesakes and Nightmares

Hesitantly, Faeariel looked to her healer. She was afraid to ask, and at the moment unsure if she actually wanted to know whatever it was that 'should never have been kept from her.'

"...What..is it?"

Coming over from where she stood at the door, Lithoniel sat on the edge of Faeariel's bed. She sighed slowly, closing her eyes. Gently wiping the tears from Faeariel's eyes, she held her as close as she was allowed to do.

"..A long time ago, King Thranduil had a Queen. She was said to be his pride and joy. I have been told, they were so happy together it was if they had been born to be together. His Queen was wise, and was said to hold an ethereal beauty unlike most of her people. She brought us joy, as well as an heir to the throne. There was not one elf, or half-elf, who did not love her." Lithoniel paused, taking in a sharp breath.

"..Legolas was barely but a child when his mother was taken from us. I was not much older than he at the time, myself. " a few tears fell down her cheeks, before Faeariel sat up a bit and frowned.

"What has this to do with me? I am not the one who caused her death.." She frowned deeper, confused as to why Lithoniel was telling her this story, or why it was something she needed to know.

"..You bare the Queen's name." The way she said it, it was as if Faeariel should have already known it.

"She was taken from us long ago. Taken captive by the orcs, we assume dead, or worse. The grief almost killed the king. The loss of his bride, and the battle with the ever-increasing darkness compounded; our Elvenking was crushed. It is part of why he became so cold, m'lady. For a time, the very mention of her name was illegal. Punishable by banishment - or if in front of the king - death. " she swallowed, looking to the now sitting up Faeariel. The pieces were beginning to fall together. The reason she was avoided like a plague, why she was looked at as a hazard, was because the people were still wary. Possibly still mourning; Legolas especially.

Suddenly, the fight she'd overheard on her way out of the stable made sense. As did Thranduil's behavior when giving her the name. She blinked, looking towards Lithoniel. She could barely get the words out to ask.

"Why would he name me after his bride? Surely that would only serve as a painful reminder to him.. It seems to be so for Legolas.." She trailed off, trying to make sense of it. "You...you don't think Legolas thinks I am trying to replace his mother..do you?" Her brows knit together, her hand resting absently on her stomach. Lithoniel felt a pang of guilt run through her. She had yet to inform Faeariel of her finding; as time passed, she grew increasingly certain her lady was unaware of her circumstance. Before she could think to tell her, Faeariel had already dozed off, and looked as if she needed the rest.

Lithoniel resigned to leave her be for a time, although it was most likely very illy-advised. She feared what may come of not telling her. Not nearly so much, though, as she feared what may happen if she did.

"...I do not know, m'lady.. I do not know."

Faeariel's dreams came swiftly, albeit being **anything** **but** sweet. There were faces she couldn't place. Voices that terrified her, for reasons she didn't know. What she saw seemed to be from another world, another time. She felt as if she were watching someone else's life, and through a stranger's eyes. The odd thing was, she could feel everything.

Where she was, did not register. She could smell hay, hear the soft neighing of horses who scraped at the bottoms of their stalls. The wind was soft, a comforting air that blended in with the warm rays of the sun. For some reason, none of this brought a feeling of comfort. She instead, felt nothing but a wrenching pain and a need to throw up. Something told her she wasn't safe. She wasn't safe, and she needed out.

Her dream ended with her feeling like she was being suffocated by hay, darkness surrounding her and drowning out any attempt to call for help she'd tried to make. Faeariel woke in a sweat, tears burning her eyes. She didn't know what her dream was about, where it had come from, or why she'd felt so horrible afterwards. She needed out of her skin, out of her dress, out of herself. A kind of panic unlike her usual nerves coursed through her, making any coherent thought hard to make. She spent the rest of the night curled in a ball, tears falling down her cheeks. She was thankful in a way, that Lithoniel wasn't still in her room. She didn't want anyone to hear or see her like this. Especially because she was sure they all thought her weak anyway.

Faeariel eventually dozed off again, only to be locked in her dream this time. The tugging at her, the pain shooting through her body. All the hay almost suffocating her, began again. This time, with a low, rasping voice in her ear.

 _What was happening to her..? Who was he? What did he want from her - was it truly her she was dreaming of?_

Questions thundered in her head, the disturbance of her dreams drawing even the attention of the king, who woke soon. Something felt off to him, something he was unsure of. In his prolonged frustration and stress from the day, he ignored the feeling; dismissing it as probably nothing anyway, and turned over to return to his dreamless sleep.


End file.
